Demon's Fire by Emma Holly

annoyance.
    Her body clenched with a violence that made her gasp, as if a hot, steamy fist were closing on the flesh between her legs. Professor Betters’s companion was the tall, dark demon from the marketplace. Mr. Pahndir stood near enough to touch, his long hair gleaming like black satin where it cascaded over his shoulders. He smelled too delicious for these close quarters, like spice and lemons and hot, hard male. Heat prickled up her muscles, from thighs to belly and breasts to face. Hard as it was to believe, the sensations were stronger than she’d felt in this morning’s shower. Beth wanted to attack him, to tear off his fancy clothes and lick him all over. She could have “gone all night” just like the sari vendor said—night after night, for that matter.
    The awareness swept over her in seconds, leading her to hope her little fit hadn’t been noticed. She gave up that idea when she realized she couldn’t tear her eyes from the demon’s face. He was so beautiful up close, like a perfect statue carved from stone. His skin was the palest gold from living in the sun of Bhamjran, and his firm, exquisitely cut lips looked as soft as rose petals. When she met his eyes, virtually helpless not to, their shining silver color snapped momentarily black.
    Whatever the cause of the reaction, it made her jump—as if a snake had flicked its tongue without warning.
    The impression deepened when his tongue came out briefly to wet his mouth. The sight of its forked marking sent a shiver skipping down her spine. To Beth’s dismay, a trickle of heated moisture overran her sex.
    The subtle twitch that curved his mouth might have been his people’s version of a smile.
    “Bright in here,” he observed.
    Actually, it wasn’t bright at all, unless you counted the sun streaming through the open door flap behind him. But perhaps that funny swelling of his pupils had caused the light to seem more intense than it was.
    “This is Beth Something-or-Other,” Professor Betters said impatiently. “She keeps our records in order.”
    “Beth Philips,” she said, her voice both faint and hoarse.
    Mr. Pahndir bowed as deeply as if she were a queen. “Pahndir Shan, at your service.”
    When he straightened, Beth couldn’t help but notice how tall he was. She hardly ever had to look up to men.
    Seeming perfectly self-possessed, the demon turned his now-normal eyes around her tent. “From the looks of things, you’re good at your job.”
    There seemed little point in telling him today’s display was an anomaly.
    “Thank you,” was all she got out.
    “Tell me, Miss Philips,” said the demon. “With all your responsibilities, do you get many chances to go to town?”
    His hand was flattened casually on his chest as he spoke to her, his fingers just as long and flawless as the rest of him. His shoulders looked very broad beneath his sapphire-and-yellow robes. They weren’t padded, either. Those were strong, lean muscles she saw under there.
    “What?” she asked as Professor Betters muttered under his breath.
    The demon’s answer was as pleasant as if she weren’t acting like a half-wit. “I asked if you enjoyed visiting the city.”
    “I…live there,” she said, doing her best not to gasp out the words.
    “Do you?” His voice conveyed nothing but politeness, but unless the light was playing tricks on her, his eyes had gone a shade darker.
    “In the Old Quarter. With Charles and Lord Herrington.” Then, realizing that Charles was probably the person Mr. Pahndir wanted to track down, she added, “Charles works in the cook tent.”
    “Prince Pahndir,” Professor Betters interrupted in a longsuffering tone, “if you’re as determined as you seem to examine every corner of the dig, perhaps we should be moving on.”
    Prince Pahndir (apparently, she’d gotten the mister wrong) did not turn back to his guide. His eyes stayed on Beth as he offered her that nearly invisible smile and gracefully inclined his head.
    “A